


A Fair and Just Punishment

by kaijusizefeels



Series: Something Ends, Something Begins [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Canon-Typical Violence, Geralt is a Trouble Magnet, Hearts of Stone (The Witcher 3 DLC), Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Ofier, Ofieri, Protective Emhyr Kind Of, Spoilers, Whipping, slightly kinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26575267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijusizefeels/pseuds/kaijusizefeels
Summary: “Your imperial majesty,” Mererid bowed deeply as he entered Emhyr’s study. “Corporal Jardim Hanor has traveled from his post to report about the detention of a group of Ofieri at a checkpoint on the Pontar River near Tretogor Gate.”A shadow of impatience darkened across Emhyr’s brow as he worked.“He claims to have traveled all this way because it concerns Sir Geralt of Rivia.”EDIT: please read part 1 of the series first.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Something Ends, Something Begins [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915156
Comments: 31
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

“Your imperial majesty,” Mererid bowed deeply as he entered Emhyr’s study. “Corporal Jardim Hanor has traveled from his post to report about the detention of a group of Ofieri at a checkpoint on the Pontar River near Tretogor Gate.” 

A shadow of impatience darkened across Emhyr’s brow as he worked.

“He claims to have traveled all this way because it concerns Sir Geralt of Rivia.” 

The quill pen in Emhyr’s hand stuttered to a stop. He waved to Mererid after he set the pen aside. 

The chamberlain nodded and went to open the door.

A mud-splattered soldier, smelling of horses after many days of hard riding, stumbled through the threshold. He stared in disbelief at suddenly finding himself standing before the Emperor of Nilfgaard. To his credit, he recovered quickly from his shock and saluted. “Hael Ker'zaer! Gloir aen Ard Feainn.”

“Report,” Emhyr told him.

The soldier hastily recounted his story. “As per your imperial decree, we were conducting routine searches of all ships entering and leaving the Pontar when we discovered the Ofieri hidden in the smuggling hold of a merchant frigate. The group, consisting of a mage and five soldiers, was immediately detained when they could not produce any transit documents. We discovered two bounded northerners during further searches of the hold, one of whom was badly wounded. We asked the Ofieri to explain their purpose so far up north and about their prisoners. 

Only the mage spoke a bit of common. He claimed to be a court sorcerer of Malliq Nibras of Ofier. He said that the prisoners are wanted in Ofier for a great crime but refused to answer any more of our questions when we pressed for details. The prisoner who was wounded—“

Corporal Hanor hesitated. He rubbed a dirt-covered hand along an equally grubby looking trouser. “I believe the prisoner is the witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”

Emhyr narrowed his eyes. “Are you certain?”

The corporal seemed to shrank under the intensity of the emperor’s gaze. “The holding was dark, and the man was covered in blood and filth. I might have—,” he begun. 

In a moment, however, he shook his head. “No, the figure was unmistakable. I had served with Commander Milan Noran in Oreton during the war, and Geralt of Rivia had come to take a contract. He was the one who found my brother’s body when no one else knew what had happened to their patrol. I will never forget the witcher for as long as I live. Once I explained the situation to his Excellency Ambassador Van Attre, he told me to ride out immediately and bring the matter to your majesty’s attention.”

Having delivered his report, the corporal saluted once again before standing to attention. 

“Mererid, see that Corporal Hanor is provided for. This audience is finished.”

Only after the door had closed did Emhyr let his mouth slide into a deep frown as he mulled over the soldier’s report. After all these months, he had only just begun to forget about the witcher’s existence; this was a lie, but Emhyr had thought that he of all people had earned the right to lie to himself on occasions. Not to mention, there was the possibility that Corporal Hanor was mistaken, or this was some elaborate ruse to get him out of Nilfgaard.

Emhyr drummed his fingers together. 

He should send words for General Voorhis to take care of things again. 

But suppose the corporal was right and the Ofieri indeed had Geralt captive, bound for distant Ofier to answer for some mysterious crime, then the situation might require his direct intervention. His spies had reported some time ago about the disappearance of one of Malliq Nibras’ sons. Emhyr wondered if all of this might be related; what are the chances that the witcher would manage to get himself entangled in the royal affairs of the Ofier Malliq?

Emhyr’s lip quirked upward; unfortunately, the odds were very good. For all his talk of neutrality, Geralt had an unerring ability to find himself in the thick of things anywhere and everywhere. 

Nilfgaard and Ofier currently enjoyed peace, and Emhyr could not jeopardize that since his troops are still rooting out the last bit of Redanian resistance in the north. The situation with Skellige has also yet to stabilize despite young Queen Cerys’ accommodating overtures. 

Emhyr had thought that he had purged all of his oppositions in Nilfgaard. So either it was safe for him to leave the city in the hands of the imperial council for a moment, or this would turn out to be the last desperate machination engineered by the conspirators. In any case, his decision was made.

Like that evening when he knocked over the goban in his haste to kiss Geralt, the witcher managed to force him into another gamble. And this time, he did it without even being anywhere near Emhyr.

* * *

“Phakhahl, sokhan! (Stand up, dog)”

Geralt struggled to his feet; his balance was off due to his bound hands and shackled legs. After so many days, he no longer needed Felippe to translate this familiar command at least.

His escape attempt after waking up from the Toad Prince’s poison had been a bad idea. Even though he had taken out two Ofieri guards plus the Redanian mercenary, without his potions and armor, the Ofieri mage was too strong. They beat the crap out of him as punishment and then broke all the fingers in his sword hand.

Geralt lost consciousness after that. 

The next time he was lucid, Felippe told him that they have all been detained by Nilfgaardians while trying to make their way down the Pontar and to the Great Sea. Unfortunately, the mage managed to claim diplomatic immunity and the right to hold onto both Felippe and Geralt as prisoners to answer for crimes in Ofier. The befuddled soldiers at the outpost had not dared to question him much, nor could Felippe appeal on behalf of himself and Geralt as the Ofieri had threatened to cut off his tongue if he so much as made a sound.

To their misfortune, Felippe and Geralt were left with the Ofieri. And it seemed that unless the situation changed dramatically, the Nilfgaardians were content to leave things be.

Today, it seemed, will be the same as the many days before.

“Revhaghr quar verrethe ner. (Resist and I will cut off his head)” The Ofieri guard, whom Geralt named Jumpy, gestured menacingly in Felippe‘s direction.

Geralt sighed and held up his chained hands to show that he was no threat.

Jumpy advanced menacingly toward him with his club, which was just a plank of wood he took from his bunk. Unlike his compatriots, Jumpy liked to take out his frustrations of their situation on Geralt. The other guards neither joined him nor stopped him.

Geralt clenched his jaw when stripes of red and purple bloomed on his torso underneath the Ofieri’s blows. His pale chest and back were already liberally decorated with bruises at various stages of healing. 

While the Nilfgaardians provided them with meals three times a day, the portions were slim. Further, the Ofieri had decided that Geralt and Felippe could survive on sharing only half a portion per meal. The witcher’s healing factor struggled with so little nourishment. Geralt heard a snap and felt a popping sensation along his side. He realized that Jumpy had fractured his barely healed ribs once again.

As usual, the peevish guard soon got bored of Geralt’s non-reaction. He stalked over to Felippe, who yelped and quickly scrambled to get away.

“Elkhahl (Quiet)!” the Ofieri mage commanded as he continued to write in a journal. He was in a poor mood because he had as of yet received access to a megascope.

Jumpy backed down and went back to sit with the other guards.

Geralt dropped against the nearest wall. Ignoring the aches of his body, he quieted his mind to enter a meditative state. 

The witcher’s heart rate and breathing slowed so he could focus on his external sense. Geralt could hear the rapid beats of Felippe’s heart and the futile gurgling of his stomach. The Ofieri guards had settled into a game of dice and conversed quietly amongst themselves while the mage muttered to himself as he continued to write. 

However, Geralt could hear a parade of heavy footsteps in the distance. And if he concentrated enough, he could feel faint vibrations in the building’s walls and floor. 

Tens of minutes passed, and the noises grew such that one doesn’t need to be a witcher to sense that something was about to happen.

The door of their cell was flung wide open. A squad of plate-armored Impera Brigade soldiers stomped inside. They parted into two lines and stood to attention. A courier came in at the end to announce, “the Emperor of Nilfgaard, Lord of Metinna, Ebbing and Gemmera, Sovereign of Nazair, Vicovaro and Redania, Protector of Temeria, Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd, Emhyr var Emreis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuun. And so begins. 
> 
> This was actually the first Emhyr/Geralt story I wrote before I thought about tying everything together as a series. I got the idea after the Ofieri mage kicked my ass over and over again while I was playing. Since the ship never made it into open water, Geralt did not need to make his pact with Gaunter O'Dimm. I also let poor Felippe live.
> 
> Comments and feedbacks are welcome and greatly appreciated :D


	2. Chapter 2

“Your imperial majesty!! Mercy! Mercy!” Felippe threw himself onto his knees with a cry of alarm, bending so much that his forehead touched the ground.

The Ofieri guards prostrated themselves on the ground as well. But the mage only gave Emhyr a small bow and said, “your imperial majesty.”

This lack of deference drove the emperor’s courtier into apoplexy though Emhyr took no notice. Instead, the emperor’s eyes surveyed the entire room until they rested on the witcher’s prone form. 

Geralt held still. His yellow cat eyes blinked slowly in surprise; he had not expected Emhyr’s presence at all.

“What are these men’s crimes against the Kingdom of Ofier?” The Emperor of Nilfgaard gestured at Felippe and Geralt. 

“Your majesty, the pale mutant”— the mage spat at the ground— “great crime he has committed against the illustrious Malliq Nibras. His son, Prince Sirvat, was slain in cold blood by he. To justice, we have sworn to bring him.”

Emhyr frowned. “And the other?”

“The murderer’s accomplice and a fool.”

“This is a serious charge. Though Nilfgaard values our peace with Ofier, we must ascertain that the correct perpetrator was caught. I want to speak to your prisoners in private.” Emhyr could see that the mage was about to protest. “In exchange, a megascope will be provided for you so that you can speak directly to Nibras’ court.”

After a brief moment of consideration, the mage gave a small nod.

* * *

“Another regicide! Geralt, your ability to find yourself in the thick of things never cease to amaze me,” Emhyr said as he watched the still shackled witcher ease carefully into the chair across from him. 

In light of how slowly Geralt moved compared with his usual self, Emhyr did not bother to point out the his failure to bow yet again. Up close, he could see that the witcher’s usual leanness was beginning to turn into emaciation. Emhyr focused on breathing slowly through his mouth, first, to forestall his growing ire and second, to lessen the stench of blood, sweat, and other noxious fumes wafting from the other man.

“It was a contract. I thought I was killing a monstrous toad in the Oxenfurt sewers. Didn’t know it was a cursed prince.

“Fool,” Emhyr hissed. 

He told Mererid to send for whatever is available in the canteen and tried not to think about how similar the story sounded to his past. 

“Yeah, have to agree with you this time.”

“Who gave you the contract?” he asked while the ravenous witcher dug into the mediocre army fare like nekkers onto fresh corpses.

“Some Redanian nobleman named Olgierd von Everec,” Geralt replied with a mouth still full of half-chewed food. “I’m going to have a chat with him,” he promised darkly. 

Mererid stood in mortification as the witcher recounted the story in detail while waving about forkfuls of horse stew, oblivious to the fact that he was liberally splattering the Emperor of the North and South with grease.

“And the Ofieri just happened to arrive after you slew the monster and he reverted to a man. Curious timing.” Emhyr stroked his chin and asked, “who cursed the prince?”

“Don’t know,” Geralt shrugged.

Unfortunately, Geralt’s fellow prisoner was also not very informative. The only thing he knew was that the Ofieri and the mercenary they hired suddenly appeared one day at the Alchemy Inn to ask for a guide to the massive city sewer system. He had jumped at the chance for some easy coins.

Once he was alone, Emhyr sat back and thought about what to do next. 

He could let the Ofieri take Geralt. 

He could order his troops to storm the cell and forcefully free Geralt; he wondered what his witcher would say if Emhyr started a war on _his behalf_.

A third possibility drifted into his mind. In theory, it should be the solution most favorable to the witcher’s moral sensibility, but there was a high probability that Geralt might want to take his chance with Nibras after all, once Emhyr revealed the plan.

* * *

Geralt watched the Ofieri mage converse with another on the megascope in their foreign tongue.

“What are they discussing?”

“Your punishment,” Felippe shuddered as he translated. “A fitting punishment for regicide in Ofier is to bury you up to your neck in sand, cover your face in agave, and then let the ants feast on the exposed flesh while sand crabs dig through your eyeballs.”

“Great.”

“They’re now talking about buying you from the emperor.” Fellipe’s eyes grew round as he exclaimed, “FIFTY-THOUSAND FLORENS!”

“Elkhahl sokhan! (Quiet dog)” 

An empty metal mug flew across the room and smacked Felippe on his head. He shrank back from Geralt’s side with a cry.

Geralt thought morosely; it figured that the biggest contract he had ever come across is one that he can not collect on. Even Emhyr might be tempted by the amount that the Ofieri were willing to offer.

The same Nilfgaardian courtier, who announced Emhyr’s arrival, suddenly barged into the room with a message. “His imperial majesty would like an audience with the illustrious Malliq Nibras of Ofier. There is something that the malliq should know about the witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”

Felippe looked at Geralt with curious gazes. The white-haired man shrugged; he had no idea what Emhyr was planning. 

The Ofieri mage continued his conversation though Geralt hoped that they were now discussing something other than his planned punishments.

* * *

The three crystal stands of the megascope were set in the middle of a small room. Emhyr and his chamberlain stood on one side. The Ofieri mage and Geralt were on the other. Felippe was also dragged into the meeting to act as a translator should the need arise.

At the appointed time, a thin, bearded figure appeared hazily in the center of the megascope.

“Your Most Gracious Malliq Nibras!” the mage prostrated in front of the image. He jerked on Geralt’s chain and forced him to kneel as well; Felippe copied immediately.

Mererid bowed low while Emhyr merely nodded in greeting. “Your majesty.”

The malliq spoke with a low, raspy timbre; the mage translated his words. “My son, Prince Sirvat, was murdered. His killer’s presence at my court, I demand so that I may exact justice.”

Emhyr’s face betrayed nothing as he listened to the malliq’s words, not even at the offer of fifty-thousand florens. Once the malliq finished, the emperor spoke. “Prince Sirvat was jinxed. The witcher said that he was tasked to slay a monster and did just that. He did not know that the monster was the cursed prince.”

“Lies!” The mage seethed.

Emhyr’s face darkened. Interrupting and calling the emperor a liar were hangable offenses. Both of which he _had_ exercised in the past to make a point. However, he let the matter go as there was a more pressing issue. 

“Aside from which,” he turned to look at the witcher in the eyes. “Sir Geralt of Rivia is special to me. He is my lover.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to keep the mage's odd speech pattern like in the game. It was fun to write. After much debate, I've decided that to stop capitalizing witcher since it's not a proper noun though sometimes it's used as one. I don't know; grammar is hard and frustrating.


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt’s mouth fell open. He blinked once, then again, but everything stayed the same. He had been feeling much better after Emhyr fed him, and this doesn’t feel like a dream or an illusion. But that would mean that Emhyr had just declared aloud that he and Geralt are lovers.

Aside from Emhyr, everyone else in the room reacted with varying degrees of shock and dismay.

The mage paled with an audible gasp. Emhyr’s chamberlain let out a hard sigh and closed his eyes while Felippe’s head snapped back and forth between Geralt and the emperor as he stared in disbelief.

“More lies!” The mage shouted at them. He turned to the figure in the megascope and started speaking in rapid Ofieri.

This time, Emhyr _interrupted_ them.

“I expect that this information is a shock. The secrecy was to protect Sir Geralt. He is a witcher and is woefully ignorant.” Emhyr paid no heed to Geralt rolling his eyes. “I will give you some time to consider your response. I will allow him to remain longer in your custody, but”— he glanced meaningfully at the witcher’s restraints — “Sir Geralt will be treated in a manner more befitting of an imperial consort.”

* * *

Finally, Ofieri freed Geralt from his shackles. They watched him warily as he stretched and put his body through several kata drills. 

There were some upsides after Emhyr’s impromptu revelation. The beating stopped, and the food portions got a lot bigger. He was also allowed to bathe and shave regularly now. A small bunk was even allocated for him; Geralt insisted on the same treatment for Felippe. 

On the other hand, the Ofieri now openly apprised him, trying to figure out what sort of man could have caught the eyes of the Emperor of Nilfgaard.

“They don’t believe him,” Felippe translated one of the guard’s many conversations on the matter. “You are a pale, scarred mutant, not fit even to be a footstool for any of the beauties in the malliq’s harem.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. 

The guards' mutterings did not bother him. What troubled him were the suspicious and gradually considering looks the mage gave him while he continued his discussions with Malliq Nibras over the megascope.

Geralt did not know what would be worse if they did not believe Emhyr or if they did.

* * *

“From peace, Ofier and Nilfgaard have both flourished,” the mage said as he carefully translated the malliq’s words once they gathered again. Geralt paid little attention to the long preface of diplomatic drivels until Nibras bought up the matter at hand. 

“My son’s death, I still grieve for. He left home for many months and then disappeared. Now he is dead. Ofier demands justice.” 

The malliq gestured toward Geralt, “this man is yours, you say.” 

Emhyr nodded. 

“Then you must exact punishment in our stead.” The Ofieri mage leaned forward with eagerness as his words came out in a rush, “two hundred lashes, delivered by your hand, in public.” 

“This is an outrage!” Mererid cried. “His imperial majesty will not sully his—” 

The mage’s dark eyes glowed with triumph when the emperor silenced his chamberlain with a wave of a hand. 

He continued his translation of the malliq’s words. “As it is difficult to believe he is your lover,”— a sneer was thrown at Geralt’ — “you will prove this by taking him, in public. The mutant’s suffering and humiliation, we will take as payment for the slaying of Prince Sirvat.”

Silence fell upon the room as the two monarchs glared at one another.

Geralt’s hands shook with outrage, but before he could express precisely what the Ofieri should do with themselves and their demands, Emhyr responded.

“Agreed.”

* * *

The white-haired witcher paced back and forth in front of the seated emperor. “I can take my chances in Ofier, escape somehow,” he offered.

“You have not managed so far,” Emhyr stated as a matter of fact.

Geralt shook his head. 

“Emhyr, _you_ don’t have to do this. They’re using me now, to get at you.”

The witcher’s troubled tone made Emhyr pause. It had not occurred to him that the witcher could be concerned about him in all this. Once again, he thought to himself that Geralt was an utter fool.

“As the Ofieri believes in the precepts of Lex Talionis, one can argue that you are getting off lightly, though I had expected more of a diplomatic reprisal than this,” he explained in an even voice. Then Emhyr thought to ask, “two hundred lashes will not be a problem for you?” 

It would not do if the solution to save the witcher resulted in his demise.

“Had worse,” Geralt answered but did not elaborate further. 

Emhyr trusted that the witcher’s hardiness would allow him to survive a punishment that would kill most men. 

“Then, we will proceed.”

Geralt nodded tersely and stood awkwardly. 

"You’re dismissed.”

* * *

Hours after their meeting, Emhyr realized while he was penning a letter to the Duchess of Toussaint that not only had Geralt and he avoided discussing what would come after the lashing, but they also failed to qualify the words he used to describe their relationship to the Ofieri. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, these two are idiots.


	4. Chapter 4

All four centuria stationed at the outpost stood to attention on the green where a stage was hastily constructed a day earlier. For practicality, the malliq agreed to allow Geralt’s punishment to occur at the outpost instead of traveling to Novigrad and facing the public there.

A metal-frame made of dimeritium, one of the many leftovers they found after Radovid's forces retreated, rested in the center of the stage. Today, it would serve as a pillory for a witcher.

Emhyr made sure that everyone was positioned so that Nibras, via the megascope, and his servants would not only have a clear view of the Nilfgaardian soldiers covering the entire green but also the multitude of banners flying the Great Sun inside and outside the fortification.

Geralt, wearing naught but his breeches, caught Emhyr’s eyes for a moment before he shuffled to the metal-frame. Slowly, he dragged his arms above his head and signaled for a guardsman to bind him. 

The Ofieri mage stepped forward instead. He sneered at Geralt’s grimace when he tightened the ropes. 

“And naked,” he instructed an Ofieri guard at the last moment. “A criminal needs no modesty.” 

Geralt did not react when his breeches were torn away; nudity had never bothered him, and he supposed that this was an inevitable step due to the second part of his punishment. Once the Ofieri were satisfied with his bindings, they returned to stand next to the megascope.

Emhyr stared at the Geralt’s lean and scarred form, made more gangly by his earlier deprivations. He looked outward to the multitude of troops. 

With a gesture from him, the Impera Brigade would storm the stage and cut the Ofieri to pieces. With a command from him, the standing army in Nilfgaard proper would start marching southward, cross the Korath desert, and arrive at Ofier’s border by the end of the month.

But Emhyr is tired— tired of requisition orders and negotiations and numbers. 

Geralt pale back was already a ruined canvas. Emhyr watched the tense muscles shift across the witcher’s broad shoulders; they looked sturdy enough to bear the price of potentially averting the death of thousands.

As the emperor approached the pillory, Mererid came up, bowed low, and handed him a cat o’ nine tails. 

The rawhide leather grip squeaked in Emhyr’s hand.

He let the cries of _hael ker'zaer_ die away before he addressed the centuria.

“The witcher, Geralt of Rivia, was found, sword in hand, next to the murdered body of Prince Sirvat of Ofier, son of Malliq Nibras. That the witcher thought he slew a beast when it was a man does not exempt him from murder. The punishment for regicide, in Ofier, as it is in all the lands, is death. However, Malliq Nibras saw reason to lessen the punishment in light of the witcher’s relationship with me. As demanded by Malliq of Ofier, I will personally deliver the witcher’s punishment for such a heinous crime committed in our land: two hundred lashes, publicly chastised and sodomized.”

Silence followed his words; mouths dropped open in shock. Even though the soldiers are used to the sights of corporal punishments, they have never heard nor seen the emperor personally carry out such sentences.

As Emhyr raised his arm for the first blow, he heard Geralt murmur quietly, for his ears only, “had worse.” 

* * *

Geralt counted silently in his head. By stroke number fifty, he realized that Emhyr was being considerate. 

The emperor’s strikes were powerful, but he was careful about the placement. Successive blows landed on different parts of Geralt’s body so his skin would have a chance to heal before the next one. He turned slightly to see if the Ofieri have caught on to what Emhyr was doing but seeing the mage’s grimly satisfied expression meant they haven’t.

Despite Emhyr’s effort, Geralt’s skin broke on stroke number eighty. He bit his lips to stifle a groan.

By number one hundred twenty, Geralt could no longer distinguish the welts left by the individual knotted thongs of the cat. His entire back felt as if it got trampled on by horses though the discomfort was nothing compared to some others he had endured—nothing compared to the bite of a poisonous arachas. 

Nothing heightened a witcher’s senses quite like pain. 

He heard Emhyr’s exhalations, steadily increasing in tempo like his heartbeats, and smelled the scent of the emperor’s sweat mixed with his blood. 

Geralt looked out onto the field and gazed into the restrained faces of all the black ones. Young recruits, old veterans, hundreds of pairs of eyes focused unwaveringly at his prone form as they shared with him the anticipation for the next blow.

A rush of sensations overcame him, forcing him to turn his attention inward instead. The flutter spread from his back to the tip of his fingers and toes. Somehow, somewhere along the way, it changed from an ache to a rush of energy. Geralt’s body buzzed with it. In contrast, Emhyr was flagging.

The witcher growled low; his abdominal muscles flexed as he arched his back and bared his throat. It was a challenge, not an offering. The white wolf was not beaten.

A loud, barking laugh interrupted Emhyr’s strikes.

The Oferi mage gestured to his men in a rush of their native tongue. 

It took Geralt a moment to realize that the mage was pointing at him, at least a very specific part of him— his burgeoning erection.

Geralt’s nipples tightened while his cock, inadvertently, hardened.

“Ha, ha, ha,” the Ofieri guffawed and made more obscene hand gestures at him. But somehow, this seemed to have resolved some of their ill-will toward him as they didn’t complain when Emhyr finished the rest of the whipping with half-hearted strokes that barely glanced his skin.

The emperor tossed away the whip with disgust.

“Must you,” Emhyr said as he took hold of Geralt’s erection — and it was definitely an erection now— in the same hand that had been holding the cat a moment ago.

Geralt missed this grip, just a hair too tight for some but perfect for him.

For the first time since the beating started, Geralt moaned.

He melted back onto Emhyr’s heaving chest as precum dribbled from his slit. He was as hard as he had ever been, even though or maybe because of the hundreds of pairs of eyes following the thrust of his hips as he fucked into the fist of the Emperor of Nilfgaard. 

Geralt knew that afterward, Emhyr’s chamberlain would eradicate any trace of him from the emperor with perfumed water and soap. But nothing will be able to wipe away the soldiers’ memories of seeing Geralt spurt into Emhyr’s hand. 

He was so close; he was going to come at any moment —

Emhyr let go. 

* * *

Geralt wanted to swear at the emperor, except he lost his breath when Emhyr shoved two fingers, coated in his own precum, into him.

The frame shook when he wriggled in impatience. Even Geralt could see the symbolism in the Emperor of Nilfgaard ploughing a northern witcher into submission; he wasn’t expecting Emhyr to still be _careful_ with him.

“Afraid the imperial dick won’t measure up?” Geralt taunted.

“Unlike you, some of us prefer coitus without an audience,” Emhyr murmured though the truth was that he was only beginning to harden. Hurting Geralt was much more unpleasant and difficult than he had expected. 

He knew that the witcher could handle more, had seen Geralt broken and in much worse shape months ago. But the sight of that pale back, drenched in blood due to Emhyr's hands, was a dose of cold water on his libido.

The return of Geralt’s insolent tongue, however, assured him that the witcher was alright. And just as he remembered, Geralt shivered delightfully to the sound of his voice.

* * *

Emhyr’s fantasies had never included a field full of Nilfgaardian troops standing to attention while watching him in coitus; maybe Geralt didn’t mind an audience — the witcher had dropped far too many hints about the throne room for him not to have an exhibitionist streak— but Emhyr preferred his intercourses to remain private. 

But now presented with the reality of standing in front of hundreds, with Geralt thrusting desperately into his hand, aching to be conquered, Emhyr was beginning to see the appeal. He was going to show off how he could take apart an individual as singular as the witcher.

Emhyr would make Geralt _beg_. 

His cock quickly hardened to that appealing thought.

Emhyr shoved aside his gambeson and hose to quickly free his erection, coating it with as much precum as he could. 

“This is a punishment, remember,” he said even as he tipped Geralt’s head back into a blistering kiss. If Nibras had meant to humiliate Emhyr along with his witcher, then he was going to be badly disappointed.

“Fuckkk…,” Geralt groaned when Emhyr finally pressed in, slowly and steadily. The ache felt more intense than all the lashes that fell on his back. Geralt bit his lips when the emperor smacked him on his right butt cheek before grabbing ahold of his hips with both hands. The witcher’s body jerked forward and back as much as the ropes allowed as Emhyr thrust into him, methodical and forceful, just like he remembered.

Geralt would die before he admits it aloud, but he missed this, missed Emhyr.

However, even if he wasn’t a terrible actor, there was no way to hide the physical signs of his arousal whenever Emhyr’s cock nudged against a bundle of nerves inside of him. Geralt’s erection drooled constantly while his nipples have peaked into rock-hard little nubs. 

The witcher closed his eyes to savor the feel and sound of flesh slapping against flesh when Emhyr suddenly panted into his ear, “beg me, Geralt, and I will let you come.”

The emperor then gave Geralt’s erection a careful little pat before moving to pinch one of his nipples.

“You bastard.”

Geralt’s voice quivered when Emhyr gave a powerful thrust. His eyes rolled back in pleasure, but he was not about to give Emhyr anything without a fight. Emhyr might know his weaknesses, but he also knew his. Geralt shifted just as Emhyr was pulling out so his rim could clamp onto the sensitive head of the emperor’s cock with a tight squeeze; the rocking of his hips added a particular twist.

It was Emhyr’s turn to let loose his own unintelligible string of curses in a combination of Nilfgaardian and common. 

A master of motion, Geralt told Emhyr with his body that he had not been mastered yet.

His witcher was infuriating. His witcher was exhilarating.

To compose himself, Emhyr looked onto the field, only to be assailed by the sheer force of the soldiers’ gazes in anticipation of their emperor’s imminent conquest. 

Emhyr fought back as hard as he could against the urge to come as Geralt held onto him like a warm vice; the witcher’s channel squeezed just so to struck the perfect balance between resistance and give. Emhyr leaned forward so he could lick inside the insolent mouth and was surprised to find Geralt’s lips parted sweetly for him.

Without any fanfare, Emhyr came.

The pleasure of a long-delayed release partially made up for having ejaculated before Geralt. Emhyr slumped forward, trusting the witcher to support some of his weight briefly. He barely heard Geralt’s gasped grunt before a thunder-like staccato from the green overtook it. 

_Glòir aen Ker'zaer! Glòir aen Ker'zaer! Glòir aen Ker'zaer!_

Emhyr reached around to find Geralt soft and dripping with spent seeds.

* * *

At some point, Emhyr must have pulled on Geralt’s hair because it had come loose from its usual ponytail to fall wildly across the witcher’s shoulders.

Mererid stepped forward with a towel as soon as the emperor pulled away. Emhyr wiped carefully before tucking himself back into his hose. His eyes skimmed across the myriads of open wounds across an already scarred back and specifically did not linger to check for any signs of his seed leaking between the Geralt’s pert buttocks.

Emhyr walked over to the Ofieri and said to Nibras via the megascope, “I trust that the witcher has been justifiably punished in your eyes.”

The mage looked livid but held his tongue. The malliq gave a curt nod and disappeared.

“See that they are provided for and escort them to a ship,” Emhyr gestured to the Ofieri. He turned back to watch Geralt pulling awkwardly at the ropes. “Have the witcher cleaned and seen to by a healer.” 

Emhyr then departed for his own bath.

* * *

“Leaving so soon?”

Geralt swore and continued saddling Roach, a young black Nilfgaardian mare this time. He had started packing as soon as the healer finished treating his back in the hope of departing before Emhyr sought him out.

What Geralt didn’t know how to deal with was what to say to the Emperor of the North and South. Should he thank Emhyr for saving his life? Should he assure the man that he was alright?

Unused to being ignored for any length of time, Emhyr said, “I’ve told the commander to swear all the men to silence about what happened.”

Geralt hadn’t been worried about being labeled as the emperor’s side piece, but he supposed that Emhyr would not want it to be known that he buggered a witcher because the Ofieri Malliq had told him to.

“What will you do now?” Emhyr finally asked when it became clear that Geralt wouldn’t make any comments on what just happened between them.

“I got to ask Olgierd von Everec some questions. He didn’t say anything about a cursed prince when he sicced me on the toad monster.” Geralt shrugged as he finally turned around to look at Emhyr. “Then, I’m going to Holloway to hear about a contract.”

He specifically didn’t mention that the contract is in Toussaint because he didn’t want to tempt himself with the possibility that Emhyr might offer Geralt a ride to Nilfgaard if he knew. 

Geralt swung up onto the saddle but couldn’t hold back a wince; he knew that Emhyr caught it because the emperor stepped forward. To distract him, Geralt asked, “you will let me know if you find more messages from Ciri?”

Emhyr nodded as he kept his hands loose by his side.

"Stay safe, Emhyr,” Geralt told him as he gripped tight onto Roach’s rein.

“And you, Geralt.”

Geralt rode out easily despite his physical discomforts; only he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was running away from something.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this was such a hard (no pun intended :D) chapter to write! Getting the right dynamics and sexy atmosphere was more difficult than I expected. I hope I succeeded somewhat. Please let me know.
> 
> I know that I'm writing the Ofiers as the villains here but that was how they were presented in the game, in addition to servicing as a very simple plot device here (as well in the future). They're a fictional kingdom with a fictional culture and I really hope that people don't read any more into it than that.
> 
> This is all just a bit of stress relief in a very stressful time.


End file.
